Stargate Atlantis: Brother's Keeper
by the morrighan
Summary: My version of a season six. This is the sixth story. Warning: major character death.
1. Chapter 1

Stargate Atlantis: Brother's Keeper

"Colonel Sheppard?"

John Sheppard was staring through the gloom as rain and darkness engulfed him. The wind sighed in the trees, sending waves of water like a curtain to conceal the empty clearing from view. John took a few steps towards the place where the body of the alien had been. "Are you sure it was dead?"

"Yes. Positive, but…I thought I felt it move when Ford threw me onto it, but it didn't budge an inch when I took my, my samples," Moira O'Meara stated as shivers stole along her back. Her body was sodden with the rain and the mud and the grime. She tried to keep most of her weight on one side as the foot injured by the gunshot burned and stung and bled into the mud. "John?"

John squatted, blinking away rain and mist. He pointed at the grass. "It's trampled. It's trampled by feet. They came back for him, alive or not they came back."

"Who? More, more aliens?" Moira looked around nervously. She gasped as John was suddenly in front of her. "Ford said, Ford said they were like a scouting party and didn't come through the 'Gate but from the sky, they're humans, not like us, not our species but close enough to—"

"The sky?" John looked up at the roiling blackness above him. Lightning flashed in jagged spires of silver against the night. He wiped the rain off his face, saw Moira staring, staring at him and he was about to make a comment when distant gunfire echoed on the wind. "Shit!" John tapped his earpiece, his radio. "Shit! It's jammed. I'm only reading static! The storm," he said, his words drowned by a rumble of thunder that seemed to shake the muddy ground beneath their feet. "Let's go."

"No."

"Huh?" John halted, turning back to see Moira shaking her head, not following him but leaning precariously as she tried to keep her weight off her injured foot.

"Go, John. I can't. I will only slow you down. Come back for me."

"Hell no. We don't leave anyone behind, Moira." He stepped to her and slid his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. "Hold onto me."

Moira grabbed onto him, trying not to moan as she was forced to put weight on her foot as they made their way out of the clearing. "John, John, no. I will just slow you down! Leave me here! I can hide until you come back for me! John, you—"

A scream cut into her words, searing into them.

It was a man's scream. Ronon Dex was screaming, and although John had never heard the sound before he recognized it and he knew. The sound sent a shiver of pure fear up his spine. He hesitated. He looked at Moira. The biologist was staring at him with wide brown eyes, equally shocked, startled, and scared.

Wordlessly his grip on her tightened, as his grip on his P90 tightened.

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The field was mess. It was more like a swamp of mud and filth. The rain was rapidly filling it to create a small lake. Nevertheless the combatants trampled through it, in it, under it as lasers and bullets and even rocks were crisscrossing wildly.

"Radios are down!" Jason Reynolds shouted, waving his arm as he tried to direct his marines, but in the murk they were nothing more than shadows firing at other shadows.

"I know! Where the hell is Sheppard?" Evan Lorne replied. "Three o'clock!" A barrage of bullets flew towards a Wraith. It fell into the muddy expanse, dead for the moment, but these Wraith were scarily resilient and it would soon be on its feet again.

"I'm trying to increase the frequency but the storm's blocking all waves!" Rodney McKay shouted, ducking down to fiddle with a scanner and his radio at the same time in a strange amalgamation of Ancient and Earth technologies. Although not a soldier by any means the physicist had insisted on coming with the marines to retrieve John and Moira.

"Major, there are two more heading for the 'Gate," Teyla Emmagan informed. The Athosian was a mess of mud and grime but calm as ever.

"Track them but let them pass. If they encounter the Jumpers on the way engage. Where the hell is Ronon?" Evan asked, looking round.

"He went ahead to find Sheppard but we haven't—"

A man's scream cut off Jason's words. Everyone froze in shock. Even the remaining Wraith froze, as if shocked by the sound as well.

"Crap. Sounds like something found him. Jason, you and Morris finish this. The rest with me to get Ronon and hopefully Sheppard and Moira," Evan ordered.

"Sir? What if you can't find him?"

"We'll find him. We don't leave this stinking planet until we find Sheppard and the rest."

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"Let's go, Moira!"

John helped her as they staggered along, through the trees towards the ever-increasing sounds of battle. Flashes of light blossomed in the gloom, spurts of green lasers and yellow lasers and always the whine, whine of bullets was a constant barrage in their ears. Like a swarm of angry bees the battle sounds filled the air until abruptly all went silent.

John paused, easing his grip on Moira to tap his radio. "Lorne, copy? Reynolds? Anyone? What the hell is going on out there and why the hell aren't you in the Jumpers? Report! Ronon? Morris? Rodney? Anyone? Shit."

"John." Moira's soft warning made him slowly turn and free her to slowly raise his weapon. Something was moving in the gloom to their left. Something slow and ponderous. Big and bipedal. A group of three helping a fourth along that had been injured. Glints of red light shone sporadically from their heads.

Moira touched his arm, her fingers digging into his skin to prevent him from firing, from shining the light of his P90 onto them.

John didn't need the restraint. He kept his weapon trained on them, trying to see more clearly through the rain and the gloom and the night.

"Sheppard! Do you read? I've boosted the signal! Do you copy? The—"

"Shit!" John swore as Rodney's voice all but shouted out of his radio. The creatures in the gloom stopped. The creatures in the gloom turned as one towards the man and the woman. "Down!" John shouted as a burst of green laser fire shot towards them. He shoved Moira to the mud, dropping on top of her as the laser zoomed over them and splattered into a tree. The bark flared a florescent green before exploding in a flash of orange fire. John covered his head, covered Moira with his body as the tree groaned and screamed and fell only inches from them.

Moira was squirming under him, and normally John would have enjoyed the sensations and even would have made a comment or two but this wasn't the time. He grabbed his P90, aiming it towards the creatures but they were gone. He peered through the scope but there was nothing there.

"Keep still, damn it!" he whispered harshly in her ear.

Moira swore under her breath but froze. She was pinned face downwards under the military commander, mired in the muck and mud and cold and wet, her foot burning with pain. His weight was making it difficult to breathe and she could only hope that the hard, long thing prodding her rear was his 9mm.

John rolled off her and moved to his feet, gun still aiming at the area where the aliens had been. He tapped his radio. "Rodney, copy. This is Sheppard. What's your twenty?" he asked. His voice was quiet, low.

Moira scrambled to her feet, wincing with pain and looking round. She bit back a whimper as she tried to take a step but her foot folded under her. Suddenly John was there, pulling her against his side and snaking his arm around her waist again.

"John? Thank God! Where the hell are you?" Rodney sounded relieved.

"We're heading to you. Why the hell aren't you in the Jumpers?"

"We're coming to help you!"

"This is some rescue," John quipped, glancing at Moira who smiled. He smiled, but frowned. "Status?"

"SOL, sir!" Jason's voice sounded over the radio, until a screech of static erupted.

"Crap! All teams make your way to the Jumpers! That is a direct order!" he shouted into the radio. He sighed. "Why did those things just leave us?"

"I don't know. Maybe something else distracted them," she suggested.

"All right, nice and easy, Moira, let's go now. Hold onto me."

Moira didn't argue this time. Painfully she limped along with John as they made their way through the trees.

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"Ronon!"

Teyla and Rodney broke into a run, rushing towards the fallen form of their friend. The Satedan was alive, but groaning and writhing in pain. Blood soaked the lower half of his body. He scrambled, almost cowering until he recognized his friends through the haze of pain and shock that was drowning him.

"Easy, easy, big guy, we're here now…can you stand? We've got to get him back to the Jumpers and Carson!" Rodney tapped his radio. "Carson, can you read? We need you out here now! Ronon's injured! Hone in on the signal I'm transmitting to you!"

Teyla had torn off her jacket and was using it to stem the wound, pressing it to Ronon's lap and shaking her head. "He is losing a lot of blood and I cannot see the injury."

"Carson's on his way," Rodney assured. "Hang in there, buddy."

"Stay here with him. Where's Sheppard?" Evan asked.

"That way." Rodney pointed. "Our contact is intermittent, at best."

"When you can move Ronon get him to the Jumpers. Morris and Reynolds, help them and get them to safety."

"You're going after Sheppard alone?" Rodney asked, blinking against the rain as he looked up at the major. Evan's face was set in determined lines.

"Yes. I'll find the colonel and Moira and we can all go home."

Before any could protest Evan sprinted into the forest.


	2. Chapter 2

Stargate Atlantis: Brother's Keeper2

"Stay behind me." John freed Moira to hold his P90 more securely. When she had limped behind him, holding onto his waist and his TAC vest he moved carefully along the trees. His boots were squelching in the mud and the rain was making it all but impossible to see. He shone his P90 light to guide them, knowing it was a risk but one he was willing to take.

Moira clung to him, limping and lurching with him, biting her lower lip to keep the moans of pain trapped in her throat. She was exhausted, frozen, wounded but she kept moving with the military commander as the wind whispered around them and the rain poured and poured.

John abruptly stopped and Moira crashed into him. He shone his light across the trees. There was a shadow, a figure heading for them up the ridge. An answering P90 light flickered and was gone. "One of ours," John informed, relief in his voice. "Let's go, Moira."

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"Carson!"

Carson Beckett hastened to the little group on the edge of the trees. His blue gaze widened but he kept calm, kneeling near Ronon and quickly accessing his kit. "Good Lord, man! Teyla hold that steady. We've got to stop the bleeding and then I need to see exactly what—"

"No!" Ronon's voice was a growl. His grip was firm as he grabbed the doctor's hand, stilling it before he could pull away the jacket.

"Where are you injured, Ronon? I canna help you if I don't know where the injury is," Carson scolded.

"Let him help you, damn it!" Rodney flared.

"Get back! All of you! Now!" Ronon ordered.

"Go on!" Carson shooed them aside. He waited until they were a little distance off, scouring the area for any enemies. "All right, son, it's just you and me, all right?" the doctor soothed, freeing his arm and gently pulling back the jacket. He followed the contours of Ronon's torn clothing. It wasn't his shirt but his pants that were ripped, soaked with blood. Carefully the doctor eased the material aside, bandages at the ready.

"Doc…I…don't tell a…" Ronon muttered, trying to move but falling back onto the ground.

"It's all right, son. I've seen far worse than this, believe me. You'll be fine, I promise. We just need to clean this and see exactly what's been done to you and…" Carson froze. "Bloody hell," he whispered as the injury was revealed to him.

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"John!"

Moira's cry of alarm made him spin and lift his gun. As she fell to the ground John fired his P90 at an advancing Wraith. The creature advanced with horrifying speed as the bullets ripped through it. It didn't even slow down and careened into John, knocking him several feet across the forest.

John landed hard, his gun flying out of his grasp. He grunted, the breath knocked out of him and he scrambled for his handgun. The Wraith was upon him, flinging him violently onto his back and lifting its hand to feed, the sucker protruding sickly from its palm. Its pallid face was cast in a leer, many rows of teeth glinting as a bolt of lightning lit the scene and John's last thought was how terrible to die this way, in the mud and wet and cold and having the life sucked out of you by an alien.

Gunfire erupted and the Wraith was knocked sideways off him. John lunged, kicking with both of his legs at the creature's midsection. He heard a satisfying crack as ribs snapped. John rolled, grabbed his P90 and rose onto his knees, firing nonstop at the Wraith as it writhed in the mud. A second gun was firing as well and with twice the bullets pummeling the creature it squealed and died in a mess of shredded flesh and bone.

John moved to his feet, seeing Evan still in the trees as the major lowered his weapon. "Lorne!"

"Looked like you needed a hand, sir," Evan called across the distance.

"Yeah, thanks for that. Why the hell did you disobey my orders?"

"Sorry, sir. Had to be done. There's more on the move. Moira?"

"Yeah, she's…oh shit. Moira?" John hastened back to her.

Moira was struggling to rise, stuck in the mud and on her back and resembling a turtle trapped on its shell. John tried not to laugh as he grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. "Damn it, John, it's not funny!" she flared, seeing his hilarity. She was caked in mud and she tried to free herself from his grasp as a laugh escaped him. "John! It's not funny!"

"It is, Moira, seeing you like that. It was rather erotic as well," he jested, his gaze raking over her muddy clothes clinging to every curve. "You into mud wrestling?"

"Shut up! You…Evan?"

John turned. "Lorne? Where did he go?"

A single gunshot rent the air. Then there was a flare of light, so bright that John and Moira had to shield their eyes. Squinting they could discern figures until the light swooped upwards into the sky. For a second it highlighted a massive ship, oblong and gray, until the light was gone and darkness resumed.

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"Easy, now, on three." Carson directed. The two marines eased Ronon to his feet. The Satedan was pale, but alive. His lower body was swaddled in bandages and Teyla's jacket was tied securely along one thigh and between his legs and then his waist. It was the best Carson could do at the moment. "The bleeding's stopped but we must get him to the Jumper and then to Atlantis sooner rather than later."

"We can't leave without John," Rodney stated, staring at his friend. Ronon had always seemed invincible, indestructible, even when injured. Except for now. The expression on Carson's face made Rodney worry more than he ever had before about the Satedan.

"They are coming. This way," Teyla stated. "We can meet them and then all head back to the Jumpers."

"Sheppard, do you copy? Sheppard, do you read? John?" Rodney smacked his radio with his hand. "At this distance he should be receiving easily! I don't…"

A single gunshot sounded, disrupting his complaint.

A flash of light made Rodney freeze, made everyone freeze and block their eyes with their hands. The light was intense, a square of bluish white that had tiny figures in it before it zoomed up into the sky and then was gone.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Carson asked.

"Transporter beam," Rodney identified, fumbling with his scanner.

"Wraith? A culling beam?" Jason asked.

"No. Not Wraith…the signature isn't right. The—"

"Find Sheppard," Ronon croaked.

"Head towards where that light was," Rodney said.

The group proceeded.

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"Was that a culling beam?" John asked, as he helped Moira through the trees towards the clearing where the light had come and gone.

"I don't know. Maybe. I'm no physicist."

"You're not a mud wrestler either," he jested, tapping his radio as she scowled at him. "Lorne, do you read? McKay, copy? Ronon, Teyla, Reynolds, report! There's going to be hell to pay for disobeying orders," he muttered. John swore but froze reaching the clearing. The rain was gradually lessening at last, allowing him to see into the clearing past the trees. He could just make out an indistinct form on the ground.

He took a few steps closer, Moira moving with him. There was something was prone on the ground. At first John thought it was a Wraith, but it wasn't. Then he thought it might be one of the aliens, but it wasn't. He took another step, stopped again as Moira was hampering his movements as she clung to him, soft moans escaping her as her foot pained her.

There was a form in the mud.

A body.

A human body.

John felt a sinking feeling in his gut.

"Sheppard!"

John looked across the clearing to see people emerging from the trees and heading towards him. "McKay!" John shouted in reply. He watched his team and his friends walk towards him. All appeared muddy and grimy and weary but they were alive and that was all that mattered. Teyla. Rodney. Carson. Ronon was being helped by Jason and Morris. John felt a wave of relief as all were accounted for, although Ronon was wounded but alive. All were accounted for as he eyed them.

All but one.

He felt Moira's grip on him tightening, her soft gasp as her gaze raked across the people as well. He advanced into the clearing, helping her along, already knowing but needing confirmation. His steps were slow as the mud sucked his boots and the feeling of dread was like a weight growing heavier with every step, with every breath.

The team was advancing as well towards him, their relief at seeing him tempered by seeing the body in the mud between them. They were silent, the only sounds being the squelching of the mud under their feet and Ronon's labored breathing.

Even the storm was quiescent now, the rain gentling to a light drizzle as night enveloped the planet. The mist dispersed. A sliver of moon appeared to shed faint silver light.

They stopped.

Moira stopped as John did.

Everyone stared down at the body in the mud.

Everyone stared at the man in the mud. He was dead, clearly dead, his head twisted to one side, his neck at an unnatural angle. His P90 lay beside him, only inches from his bent fingers. The look of shock on his face was splattered by mud. His eyes stared sightlessly up at the dark sky, as the rain washed them, watered them like tears and mirrored the rainfall in each blue orb.

Everyone stared at the body of Evan Lorne.


	3. Chapter 3

Stargate Atlantis: Brother's Keeper3

No one spoke. No one moved. Thunder rumbled quietly in the dark sky. A swoosh of wind sent the gentle rain sideways, a gray sparkling veil that flecked the air with glints of light when the sliver of moon broke through the clouds and sprayed a faint luminescence upon the scene. It spangled those standing in gray tones, revealing shock and grief and anger.

Grief in gray tones, in black and white leached off all color, all warmth, all words gone, gone in the sea of shock that enveloped the group of people all staring down at the casualty in their midst.

The rain had never felt colder.

Jagged streaks of lightning flared against the black clouds as the storm began to weaken. The flashes of light were too bright moments revealing every detail. The Atlantis BDU covered with mud and grime. The blue and gray clothing smothered in rain and dirt, even the black TAC vest. The Atlantis patch on one shoulder was smeared with grime.

Fingers were curled in the dirt, only inches from the P90. Legs and arms flung akimbo, one leg bent, one arm stretching out, out towards the gun that had proven useless in the end. The 9mm handgun was still holstered. There had been no time to use it.

The blue eyes stared sightlessly up at nothing.

Nothing.

Moira shuddered and turned away to hide her face against John's shoulder. Tears welled as the pain in her foot was forgotten. She huddled against him, as if he could protect her from this loss, this grief, this horror. John's arm tightened around her. He wasn't sure if he was comforting her or himself but the feel of her in his arms anchored him as he felt the world spinning out beneath his feet.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

Finally Carson stepped to the body and knelt next to it. Gently, so gently he closed those blue eyes from the rain and the filth and the dark. The doctor felt a lump in his throat. Emotion choked him and he took a moment before he could speak. He turned to see the same shock and grief on the faces surrounding him. When he could speak his voice was soft, so soft. His Scottish burr was the only warmth in that dank, dark place.

"Let's go home," Carson said.

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It was a silent trip to the Jumpers.

The two marines helped Ronon walk as the Satedan grunted and groaned with every step. His injury had begun to bleed again. Teyla had taken point and led the Atlantis teams towards the waiting vehicles. John and Rodney were gently carrying the body of Evan between them. Both men were silent, grim. Carson was helping Moira limp behind them. He tried to gauge the extent of the injury to her foot. There was nothing more he could do for Evan. His duty lay with the living. Jason brought up the rear, his gun gripped tightly but there was no threat, no danger chasing after them.

The danger had come and gone.

The Wraith were dead, or else had fled through the Stargate. The other enemy had been beamed up in a flash of light to a ship, and that too was gone. The planet was vacated by all enemies, leaving the Atlantis teams alone in their grief and their shock. They made their way through the clearing, around the desiccate remains of trees and shrubbery, through what seemed to be miles of mud that sucked at each footstep.

The area was swallowed by trees, but soon the trees were gone, giving way to the ruins of the village. The rubble and destruction slowed everyone's progress. The journey was a silent one, only broken by the groans of Ronon, the moans of Moira and the grunts of John and Rodney as the two men carried the body between them.

The wind sighed as if in commiseration.

No one spoke.

The cloaked Jumpers suddenly appeared, as Teyla pressed the control that John had given her. There was a sense of relief that traveled on the air from person to person as at last safety was reached, but it was short-lived when the realization of their grim cargo returned.

Everyone stopped, turning to John for direction.

John swallowed. He glanced at everyone, glanced past them to see Alison running towards them, the relief on her face turning to shock seeing the burden they carried. He swallowed again. "Reynolds, pilot Jumper two. Morris, Johnson, with him. Porter, stay there and tend Beckner. The rest go with me in Jumper one." John's voice was calm, but low, raw, sounding harsh to his own ears. "Rodney."

The physicist nodded and the two men carried the body to the Jumper. The teams split, following his orders.

Gently they set the body down, and Rodney covered it with a blanket. He moved to the front of the Jumper as did John. As Rodney sat John stood, turning to watch as Ronon hobbled to his seat, aided by Teyla until she collapsed into her own. Carson was helping Moira up the ramp and then onto the back bench. She moaned in pain, moving her foot and nearly kicking the body but she caught herself and scooted as far away as possible. She looked up suddenly to see John watching. He nodded, then gestured. Carson shut the door and sat next to Moira, rummaging in his kit of medical supplies.

The two ships flew smoothly through the rain, skimming the cold air and heading for safety, heading for home. The vehicles' powerful lights played along the muddy ground, along the rainy wind, revealing nothing but destruction and a few dead Wraith bodies, then the dead bodies of Ford's men.

It was a grim landscape they traversed on their way home.

John piloted the ship, hands gripping the controls. He was completely calm, completely in command of his emotions. He kept his concentration ahead of him, following the second Jumper that was now piloted by Reynolds and contained the body of Lana Gardener along with the three marines and Alison Porter as she tended to Lieutenant Beckner's injuries.

He couldn't allow himself to think of anything but getting his people home to safety.

Rodney sat next to John, also staring ahead. The physicist was still in disbelief. He had to keep glancing back to the rear of the Jumper, to see the covered form of Evan. It seemed unreal, that the major had been killed. Evan had always been with them, always in the background and never failing, never lacking for a sarcastic comment or a kind act but now he was dead.

Rodney couldn't wrap his mind around the fact.

Teyla was staring at nothing, tears on her face to mix with the rain and the mud. She was focused inward, trying not to remember Evan as she had last seen him but as he had been when alive, an attractive, funny, smart and very good man who was reliable and competent and quite a talented artist as well. He had promised to teach Torren to draw when the child was old enough, but now that promise would never be fulfilled.

It was impossible that he would no longer be among them.

Ronon was slouched in his seat, eyes closed as the drugs Carson had administered eased some of his pain from his injury, but his mind was clouded with grief and anger. He berated himself for being caught by one of the aliens, for not being there when Evan had needed him. Remorse and pain mixed in an ugly combination and he forced himself to relax, to think of Amelia Banks who was waiting for him in Atlantis.

He wondered if anyone was anxiously awaiting Evan's return.

Carson was sitting on the floor, his face drawn in serious lines as he tended Moira's shot foot. Expertly he had removed her shoe and sock, and then the bullet lodged in her flesh before it could turn septic. He was cleaning the injury now, thankful he had something to do to keep his mind off the terrible tragedy that had befallen them, the loss of one of their own.

He dreaded doing the autopsy but knew it was his duty.

Moira was biting her lower lip, trying not to cry out or moan or gasp or scream as the doctor tended her injury. Sorrow and guilt engulfed her and tears blinded her as she sat, clinging to the wall of the Jumper although the ride was smooth. She couldn't look at her bloody foot. She couldn't look at the body of Evan only inches from her. Instead she looked at John, or rather the back of his head, his dark hair plastered in every direction, his broad shoulders caked in mud as he flew them resolutely home.

She stared at him to keep her afloat in the depths of grief swallowing her.

John licked his lips, slowing the Jumper. The chevrons lit on the 'Gate, one by one, blue beams against the stone circle, against the darkness of the storm and the night. The giant KAWOOSH erupted, spewing the matter stream outwards before it snapped back into a shimmering pool. The first Jumper entered it, disappeared. The shimmering pool waited, waited, beckoning to them, offering them shelter and safety and home.

John waited a moment. He transmitted his own codes, his fingers lightly playing over the controls. He felt the ship responding to him, a gentle hum he could feel in his bones but it did little to douse the cold. He could feel the grief behind him. It was a palpable weight, this shock and grief that would only increase once they reached Atlantis. It would spread like a contagion among the inhabitants and all would mourn the loss. All would mourn the loss of two more of their own, two more lives snuffed before their time as they performed their duty.

But it couldn't compare to the grief and guilt he felt over Evan's death.

And he knew they would all look to him. They would look to him to guide them, to reassure them, to avenge the death of their comrade, to make things right, but some things couldn't be made right as much as it galled him to admit this to himself. Some things just were and couldn't be undone or unmade. There was no making this right, and as anger and guilt collided John gritted himself against the tidal wave of recriminations and blame and anger.

The profundity of his culpability was deeper than any grave.

He locked it all down, buried it deep and kept himself calm, kept his expression neutral, yet sad. He went through the list of things he would need to do: a memorial would need to be organized; he would need to say a few words; a burial would have to be arranged as they could not contact Earth yet; he would need to write a letter of condolence to the family.

He hated writing those letters.

John eased his grasp of the controls and the Jumper entered the matter stream.


	4. Chapter 4

Stargate Atlantis: Brother's Keeper4

John stood in the infirmary. He had wanted to stay in the shower forever, as the hot water had pounded him, pounded him and drowned all thoughts, all emotions, all weariness but he couldn't hide or shirk his responsibilities. Clad in clean, black clothes he stood, feeling every ache and pain but not caring. He advanced slowly and the nurses made way for him.

He stopped at the first bed. "How're you feeling, lieutenant?"

At his voice Sybil Beckner looked up from her hands. Her face was a mess of bruises and cuts, her jaw swollen and crimson. One eye was swelling shut. "Okay, shir," she slurred.

"They're just superficial wounds," Ann Teldy replied as she sat next to her teammate. Her blue eyes were solemn, sad. Her blond hair was in a tight bun behind her head. She moved to her feet as John glanced at her. "She looks worse than she feels…the norm for her, actually."

"Hey!" Sybil protested, but smiled or tried to attempt a smile at the teasing.

"Doctor Porter tells me you put up one helluva fight, lieutenant," John said, his gaze moving back to the injured marine.

"Not good enough, sir," Ellen replied, her gaze darting to the morgue for a moment.

"You kept the rest alive, Beckner. Remember that. Get some rest." John met Ann's gaze, then moved along to the next bed. "Doctor Porter."

Alison met his gaze, shrugging. She had a bruise on her cheekbone and a bandage around her head. "Carson insisted that I rest for a few hours but I should be helping him."

"You should listen to the doc, doc."

She briefly smiled at the jest. "I'll have to remember that, colonel."

John stepped to the next bed. "Hey buddy."

"Sheppard." Ronon was pale, but he was alive and sitting upright in the bed. An IV was attached to his hand.

"How're you feeling?" John asked, glancing at Amelia Banks as she sat next to him.

"Fine. I'll be ready to get those—"

"You won't be getting anyone until you are fully recovered!" Amelia scolded.

John stared a moment as she touched Ronon's hand, stilling him. She had been crying. Her eyes were red and wet. John looked at Ronon. "You listen to her. Rest up and recover."

"We're going after them, right?" Ronon asked, stubborn.

"Hell yeah we are, so rest up and recover," John agreed, although he had no idea who they were or even where to find them. But that wasn't the point. John stepped to the next bed but it was empty. He stared a moment at the rumpled sheets. Someone had been there. He turned to see Carson heading towards the morgue, a resolute expression on his face. He followed after the doctor. "So?" he asked.

Carson turned to see the military commander bearing down on him. "Most are superficial injuries and all will heal, in time. The women, the women were beaten, bruised and cut but otherwise unharmed internally. Beckner and Porter will need a week to recover."

"And O'Meara?" John asked, wondering at her absence.

"She'll take longer. I removed the bullet from her foot but it will take time to heal."

"And Ronon?"

A dark cloud came and went over the doctor's face. "He'll recover. Get some rest John," he chided and entered the morgue.

John steeled himself and followed. "Carson? What the hell happened to him?"

Carson moved to a table full of surgical instruments. He began to methodically clean them, although they were already spotless. "He'll be fine. He sustained a grievous injury but he will mend, have no doubt of that. "

"What the hell happened to him?" John repeated.

"I can't say."

John scowled and stepped to the doctor. "Carson! What is it that you can't say?" John glanced out of the room to the row of beds. The Satedan was watching them with hooded eyes. John looked back at the doctor. "What the hell happened to him?" he asked for a third time, lowering his voice. "I heard…I heard him scream. He's all right, isn't he? I mean he lost a lotta blood but he's all right and he's all there, right?" Horrible ideas came and went. "As his commanding officer I need to know if he'll be fit for active duty."

Carson looked at John. "He will."

"As his friend I need to know," John insisted.

"I can't discuss the specifics of a patient's injuries, colonel. He'll be fine once he fully recovers. I can't say more. Get some rest, John." He turned back to the instruments.

John was about to continue his questioning but thought better of it. He glanced at the two bodies on the slabs. Each was covered by a white sheet from head to toes, concealing them. As if their deaths could be hidden. Slowly he walked over to them, clasping his hands together behind his back. He didn't want to pull back those sheets to reveal the dead faces of his comrades. "Gardener and, and Lorne." His voice almost broke on the man's name.

Carson joined him at the tables. "Aye. Gardener. Two gunshots, one to the back and one to the heart. It was quick, very quick."

John freed his hands to pull back the sheet to reveal the Latino woman's face, composed in death and appearing at peace. He covered the face. "And Lorne?"

Carson hesitated. He looked round the room. He looked at the floor. Finally he met John's steady gaze. "Cervical fracture of all seven cervical vertebrae. His neck was, was snapped like a twig, so severely he died from atlanto-occiptial dislocation. Internal decapitation where the skull separates from the spinal column. I…it must have taken tremendous force."

John swallowed. He recalled carrying the body and the feel of the head lolling around as if it was barely attached. He pulled back the sheet, hands shaking slightly to reveal Evan's face. His eyes were closed. His face was clean, peaceful. John covered him again.

"It was quick, thank God. I've never seen anything quite like it…not even from the Wraith." The doctor's voice wavered and he paused as emotions flooded. He stood looking at Evan as John walked round the two slabs, round the two bodies. "I don't think he felt a thing." The words sounded hollow even to him and Carson shook his head.

A sudden crash made him jump and whirl.

John had punched a hole in the wall. The lights flickered, flared brightly, almost blindingly as if responding and reacting to his anger and grief. John withdrew his hand amid a mess of mortar and crystals. His knuckles were scraped raw, bleeding. "Damn it! He should have followed orders! If he had just followed orders he would still be alive! It never would have happened!"

Carson slowly approached. "John, let me take a look at that."

John glared, hand still curled into a tight fist. Blood dripped from it onto the floor. "It was stupid! Stupid! None of this would have happened if my orders had been followed! If he had followed orders he'd still be alive! If Teldy had followed orders I never would have had to not only rescue O'Meara but Porter and the rest! We could have possibly captured Ford alive instead of killing him! Instead we lost two of our own!" John looked up to see a crowd staring at him outside the room. Ann had her head bowed, guilt like a shadow on her. Rodney looked worried. Teyla was sympathetic. Richard Woolsey appeared concerned.

"And if he hadn't have gone against orders it could very well be you on this slab," Carson informed.

John met his gaze. "I would have preferred it that way!" he hissed. Furious. He stalked out of the room. The crowd parted but Ann stood, blocking his way.

"Sir, I…I'm sorry. You're right. I shouldn't have disobeyed and insisted that—"

"No, Ann." John touched her arm a moment, drawing her gaze to his. "It was my fault. My responsibility. My decisions." He freed her arm and stepped round her.

Ann turned. "No, sir, it was all of us, going against your orders. We don't leave any of our own behind, sir. That's what Major Lorne said. That's why we went after you. Sir? John, John, wait!"

Rodney caught her arm before she could pursue him. "No. Let him go. He needs some space. Just let him be for now." He glanced at Teyla who nodded in agreement.

"Are you sure? I mean—" Richard ventured.

"I'm sure. He needs space, all right?" Rodney flared, defensive of his friend. "We all do!" He glanced round and exited the infirmary.

"I'll make plans for a memorial service tomorrow," Richard said quietly. "Do you think we should, we should go back for Lieutenant Ford's body?"

"Yes." Teyla glanced at Carson who had answered in the affirmative at the same time. She eyed Richard. "He was one of us. We should honor the man he was, not the man he became."

"We will honor all of our dead, all who have given their lives to the service of Atlantis," Richard agreed solemnly.

XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX

Rodney sat in the cafeteria. He stared at his plate full of uneaten food. It was late, quiet. A pall had settled over the city, and exhausted as Rodney was he couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat either. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. "I just…I never thought of it before, you know? I mean sure, I know how dangerous it is out here. We've all come close to losing our lives on numerous occasions but we've always had each other's backs. I mean it's just…I never thought that we were invincible or anything, well, maybe Teyla…" A brief smile came and went. "But then we lost Carson. We lost Elizabeth. We lost…we lost Jen…and others, of course, but I never thought we'd lose Lorne. I always thought our little group would prevail. I guess I thought that of all of us we'd lose Ronon if we lost anyone at all.."

Radek Zelenka nodded, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Yes."

Rodney met his gaze, crestfallen. "We can't afford to lose anyone else."

"No, we can't. It's the price we pay for being out here, especially now on our own. No one's life is charmed, Rodney. Any one of us could fail, and fall."

"I know that!" the physicist flared then sighed. "I just…"

"It's always the ones you least expect, isn't it?" Radek empathized. "The ones you take for granted, that you think will always be there."

"Yes."

The two men glumly sat, staring at their uneaten food.


	5. Chapter 5

Stargate Atlantis: Brother's Keeper5

John walked in the darkness. He refused the company of friends, of comrades in arms, even the company of strangers. He couldn't stay in his room, tossing and turning on his bed as sleep eluded him. He avoided the cafeteria and the control room and even the exercise room lest people were there. He didn't want their sympathy. He didn't want to share their grief.

He wanted to mourn alone.

He sought a refuge, and found it in the lower levels of the city. He found it in the darkness and the shadows of a bio lab. The city enfolded him in darkness as the lights dimmed as he passed. As if the city knew he sought the shadows and the quiet and complied with his wishes.

Faint lights flickered from the monitors. The rest of the room was cast in blackness. The hour was late. The city was quiet. John stood a moment, flexing his sore hand. His gaze ran along the consoles, the tables. The light from the almost full moon shone in trembling rays upon a single rose that was in a glass vase. The silvery light was broken by the window's colored panes and turned the flower from red to shades of darkest, deepest purple. The flower was just beginning to open, petals unfurling cautiously as if afraid to reveal their inner beauty.

John sat on the floor. His back was pressed to the wall. His knees were bent to support his wrists. He fumbled in his pocket. His fingers curled around an object and he withdrew it. A necklace dangled from his hands as they rested on his knees.

It was a rosary.

John was utterly silent. He fingered each bead. They were cool to the touch, well-worn and made from the finest Connemara marble. Different shades of green rock smoothed and polished and linked on a chain, small beads and larger beads. No words of religious devotion or prayer filled his mind; no invocations to a higher deity or the round of Marian novenas crossed his lips.

He recited names.

He recited the names of each of his fallen comrades and friends. Names of people he had gotten killed, often inadvertently or through reckless negligence. A long litany of guilt and grief and shame, starting with the most recent: Lorne, then going back over the years. Ford, Gardener, Keller, Weir, Grodin, Sumner, Murphy, Holland…all the way back to the first one, the most painful one.

His mother.

A noise alerted him and he froze, the whispered names dying on his lips, dissolving in his mind. He clamped down on all emotions like he always did. There was a footstep. A click. A footstep. A click. For a moment John wondered if he was in some kind of horror movie.

He watched a woman wearily enter the lab and limp towards the consoles. An awkward surgical shoe encased one foot and she was using a cane to help balance her gait. He recognized the biologist as she awkwardly moved, clean clothes moving as her muscles moved.

Moira reached the table as the darkness enfolded her. She sat, set the cane aside and stretched out her leg to ease her injured foot. She opened a backpack and produced a small machine. She connected it to a computer and activated both with the touch of her fingers. She stared at the blank screen as the two machines communicated and the larger took the proffered information from the smaller, weaving a web of facts that she would study and decipher. "I am half sick of shadows," she said, her voice soft, a mere whisper in the darkness.

John studied her. In the soft light of the monitors she was almost pretty. Almost. He could discern the cuts across her cheek, the bruises dark blooms on her pale, pale skin. A faint circle of bruises lined her throat like a gruesome necklace. She leaned down and over, straightened and set a pair of bottles on the table. They were containers of some liquid. "You're working? You can work after that?"

Moira nearly jumped in fright at the sudden voice, the latent hostility. The harsh rasp made her whirl in her chair, sliding her injured foot along and knocking it into the cane. The cane fell over with a slight metallic crash. The console flared to life under her hand, then dimmed. She relaxed, recognizing the military commander in the brief illumination. She stared. She stood. "And you're praying? After that?" she retorted, grabbing one of the bottles.

"No."

She limped towards him, an almost rollicking motion of her body as if she was on a ship instead of a steady floor. He would have laughed if not for the somberness bearing down on him. "Then what are you doing with that?" She pointed at the rosary.

"This? Oh, of course. O'Meara." He realized with an Irish name she would know what it was. "Reciting. Each bead represents a loss. A life lost in the line of duty. A death caused by me. There's another name to add now, well, two." His voice was quiet, heavy.

Moira squatted in front of him. She could see the misery in his green eyes, the grief and guilt and anger colliding. Depths of despair that threatened to overwhelm, to drown despite the walls he was erecting to stem the tide. She touched his hand. Her fingers were soft, warm caresses on his bruised knuckles. "Here." She held up the bottle. To John's surprise it was beer. "I think you need this more than I do."

He stared. He took the bottle. Their fingers brushed across it. He opened it and took a long swallow. He took another. His gaze wandered over her loose, messy brown hair, over the bruises along her face, the cuts across her cheek and lip. Her brown eyes were an ocean of compassion and misery and grief. All of that naked emotion caught him for a moment, stilling his lips on the bottle, stilling his bruised hand under hers.

The rosary dangled between them, twirling softly in the still air. The silver chain glinted between the beads where the faint light found it and sparkled along it.

"John, it wasn't, it wasn't your fault. I'm sorry. I'm sorry about, about Ford. I'm sorry…about…Evan…" Tears filled her eyes but she blinked them back, eyed the bruises on his hand. Her fingers gently stroked, stroked. "That was my fault and I…it wasn't your fault, John. I'm sorry you, you had to kill him. Ford, I mean," she needlessly clarified. "I'm sorry that Evan…" She couldn't finish as emotion filled her words and her voice. She freed his hand. She stood. She limped back to the console, restoring his privacy.

She needed a moment of privacy herself to calm her racing heart and guilty conscience. She needed a moment to stem the flood of tears that were threatening to engulf her once more. She shivered, not from the cold but from the chill of loss. The shock of the sudden death that had wounded them all and that was a wound that would never quite heal.

John drank the beer, watching her. She was a shadow in a tiny sea of light as she sat near the monitor, waiting for the data to fill. She was as still as a statue, unlike him. His foot was gently tapping the floor, but she was utterly still, hands resting on the table, fingers interlaced.

He recalled the feel of her fingers on his bruised knuckles, on his hand. That soft, warm touch.

He stood, pocketing the rosary. He walked over to her, steps methodical, silent. He swung the half-empty beer bottle at this side, back and forth, back and forth. He could hear the sloshing of the alcohol. He could hear the bubbling of the water in the walls. Atlantis was quiescent and grieving on its own. He stood behind her, also staring at the blank screen. "What was it?"

She started at his voice, his silent proximity. She looked at the machines, reluctant to meet his gaze. "I don't know. I have footage. Humanoid…maybe even human…gray skin, bald, clothing with armor and a, a neural implant of some kind over one eye…John?" She turned to see him staring at nothing, but realization illumined his face.

She stared as the light and shadow chased across his handsome face as he shifted his stance, as if unable to stand still. His pensive expression was entrancing, luminous.

"Shit. That sounds familiar…but I'd have to see the footage to be sure…the..." He broke off and took a long drink of the beer, briefly meeting her gaze.

"I'll show you as soon as I can upload this. The footage might be, might be damaged." She glance at the machine, ran her fingers along it where a dent marred the smooth surface. "Do you know what they are?"

"No," he answered. He frowned as a memory filled his mind. "It sounds like something we encountered once on the Daedalus, the one with the alternate reality drive, a real ugly thing it was too, gray, bald, a transmitter or something over one eye, armor…what are the odds that those things have reached us at last?" He focused, saw her staring at him. "What?"

"Alternate reality?" she asked, smiling for a moment. She appeared skeptical.

He smiled briefly. "Yeah. Long story." He shrugged. He gestured at the monitor with the beer bottle. "How long?"

Moira turned back to the machines. "A few hours. I'll keep working on it." She stared at the screen, seeing her image dimly reflected there, seeing John's behind her, looming over her like a shadow, all in black amid the blackness of the room. Both trapped in the blackness of despair and grief and guilt.

Both haunted by the death of a friend held dear.

John touched her shoulder. He leaned down and leaned close to say into her ear, "Give me everything you can get on these things. What they are, where they came from, where they are headed, and most importantly how to kill them."

Moira nodded, not trusting her voice as he was so close to her that the scruff on his jaw was tickling her bruised cheek. His voice was low, husky, and raw with intensity. His breath was warm, tainted by alcohol. His grip on her shoulder was firm, but gentle. The warmth of his calloused fingers penetrated her clean beige shirt.

He gently squeezed her shoulder, a slight caress of his fingers scintillating, reassuring.

John straightened after getting a whiff of vanilla and soap from her skin, from her hair. He stood a moment, drinking the beer and staring at the blank monitor, his hand still on her shoulder. He looked at her dim reflection in the monitor, at his. They appeared like shadow people, like two lost souls only vaguely existing in the murky corners of the night. "It wasn't your fault, Moira," he said at last.

Her brown hair was soft, tickling the back of his hand when she moved her head.

Moira turned to reply as he freed her shoulder and she mourned the loss of his touch. Words died in her throat as he had turned away from her. The blackness of the room swallowed his long, lean form encased in black.

John was leaving the room. His quick strides took him away from her, enveloped him once more in shadows and he was lost to sight. The only sound was that of the half-empty beer bottle as he kept swinging it at his side back and forth, back and forth.

She stared at the darkness where he had been.

She turned back to the monitors but his image was vacant from there as well.

She stared at the monitor, waiting. Waiting.

Waiting.


End file.
